Shadow slave: Sovereign of the Unknown

A World That Kills the Weak

The wind howled through the dimly lit alley, carrying the scent of rust, damp concrete, and distant smoke. He remained seated against the cold wall, his breath steadying as the initial shock of awakening in this world began to subside.

A month.

That was all the time he had before the world of Shadow Slave truly began to devour the weak.

A month to prepare.

A month to grow stronger.

His hands clenched into fists. He wasn't naïve—this world wouldn't give him time to leisurely adapt. Every moment counted.

Pushing himself up, he scanned his surroundings. The city around him felt cold, oppressive. Towering metal structures stretched toward the gray sky, their steel surfaces rusted and worn. Flickering neon signs buzzed faintly in the distance, barely holding onto life.

This was the real world of Shadow Slave.

Not the Dream Realm, not the twisted nightmarish landscapes of the future, but the broken remnants of civilization.

And it was just as merciless as the nightmares themselves.

A Test of Strength

He had to get moving.

His body still felt stiff, but the soreness was fading. That alone was unnatural. Had the system done something to his body when he awakened?

His eyes fell on the translucent screen still hovering in his vision.

[System Interface]

Host: Unknown

Aspect: Abyssal Tyrant (Divine-Level, Hidden)

Synchronization: 3%

Three percent.

That number irritated him. His Aspect was powerful—he could feel it deep in his core—but at only 3% synchronization, it was barely functioning at full capacity.

He had to push it further.

He needed combat experience.

If his abilities truly worked the way he imagined, then the fastest way to grow stronger was simple:

Fight. Kill. Evolve.

But first, he needed a weapon.

His eyes roamed the alleyway, searching for anything remotely useful. His gaze settled on a rusted steel pipe, half-buried beneath a pile of debris.

Not ideal—but better than nothing.

He picked it up, testing its weight. It was heavy, uneven, but sturdy. It would do for now.

Now, he needed an opponent.

The First Hunt

He stepped out of the alley and into the streets, his sharp gaze scanning the world around him.

The city was decayed, lifeless in many places. But there was movement—shadows shifting in the distance, figures lurking in the corners of abandoned buildings.

Scavengers. Gang members. Low-level criminals.

And then, there were the Stray Awakened—those who had survived the Nightmare Spell but were too weak to make it in the long run.

Most of them were nothing more than dead men walking.

He knew exactly where to find them.

Taking a deep breath, he moved toward the lower districts of the city.

The deeper he went, the worse the streets became. The pavement cracked beneath his boots, littered with discarded wrappers and broken glass. The smell of rot and unwashed bodies filled the air.

Then, he saw them.

A group of three men, standing near a rundown building. Their clothes were tattered, their bodies thin. Stray Awakened.

He had read about people like them in Shadow Slave. Those who survived their first Nightmare, only to find themselves abandoned by society, weak, and desperate.

These men had probably failed their trials, returning to the real world with nothing but scraps of power.

One of them was arguing with the others, his voice hoarse.

"We should just take what we can and leave. The strong don't care about us. No one's coming to save us."

The tallest of the three spat on the ground. "Shut the hell up. We're not beggars. If we want to survive, we take what we need. And if that means breaking a few skulls, so be it."

The last man, smaller and twitchy, nodded rapidly. "Yeah… yeah. We just need to find someone weaker than us."

Their eyes turned toward him.

His grip tightened on the steel pipe.

Perfect.

The First Battle

The tallest man grinned, stepping forward. "What do we have here? You lost, kid?"

He didn't answer.

He had no intention of wasting time.

Step one: Close the distance.

Before they could react, he moved.

His body surged forward in a blur, catching them off guard. The steel pipe whistled through the air—

CRACK.

The blow struck the tallest man's ribs. A gasp of pain escaped his lips as he staggered back.

The other two hesitated—then lunged.

The twitchy one pulled out a rusted knife, slashing wildly. Sloppy. Undisciplined.

He twisted his body, dodging by a hair's breadth.

His counterattack was swift.

WHAM.

The pipe slammed into the man's wrist, sending the knife clattering to the ground. His other hand snapped forward, fingers curling into a precise strike—

Abyssal Tyrant: Predator's Conquest activated.

A faint pulse of energy surged through his body.

The moment his fist connected, his mind absorbed something new—

The man's stance, his weight distribution, the crude but instinctual way he fought. A technique.

It was weak. Incomplete. But it was his now.

He smirked. This ability… is broken.

The last man tried to run.

He didn't let him.

Tyrant's Form: Activated.

A brief surge of power coursed through his veins. His body moved faster, crossing the distance in a blink.

One final swing.

THUD.

The man collapsed, unconscious.

Silence.

His breath came in slow, steady exhales as he stood amidst the fallen.

A system notification flashed before his eyes.

[System Update]

Enemies Defeated: 3

Stats Absorption in Progress…

Physical Strength +0.2

Speed +0.1

Martial Technique Absorbed: [Crude Knife Combat]

He exhaled, shaking off the remaining tension.

It wasn't much. Their strength was pathetic—but even the smallest gains mattered.

He rolled his shoulders, feeling the slight increase in power. It was real.

If he kept going—if he kept winning—he would grow beyond anything this world had ever seen.

A cold, ruthless determination settled in his gaze.

He had no intention of dying here.

He would become something far greater.

And this was only the beginning.